


A Mother's Love Never Leaves

by Alchemist14



Series: The D'Herblay Diaries [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:24:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alchemist14/pseuds/Alchemist14
Summary: Aramis, Porthos and Athos venture out to see if they can retrieve the missing bag.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: They’re getting the elusive bag guys! Enjoy :D

 

The snow blanketing the pavement was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he had seen a lot of snow in his lifetime, most of it up close and way too personal. He shuddered at the memory of slushy water sliding down between his shoulder blades and leaving an icy burning trail on his skin, which had been followed by a ridiculous amount of snow succumbing to the pull of gravity and literally burying him alive.

Aramis pushed those thoughts aside and focussed instead upon the warmth that was engulfing his hand, between the thick red gloves and Porthos warm hand wrapped around his own, he didn't think it was possible to get any warmer or less concerned.

Unfortunately the same could not be said about his worry for his bag. It was forming an icy pit in his stomach that was painful in its intensity, slowly travelling up and forming a lump in his throat that he avidly denied was the threat of tears. Against his will his shoulders began to slowly rise up around his ears as he tensed and dark, gloomy thoughts rushed through his head.

What if it had been found by someone? What if they had taken it? What if a dog had eaten it?

Okay that last one was ridiculous, why would there be a dog in central Paris that would be bothered by eating a bag, it's not as if there were any food in it. Aramis himself would have eaten it if that was the case.

His chaotic thoughts were beginning to make him a bit dizzy with all their whirring around but he couldn't find it in him to stop. They were disrupted the next second by a large growl coming from his stomach, so unexpected that for a minute he had no idea where it had come from, and jumped about a foot in the air.

"Well I knew you were jumpy" Athos smirked as he raised what Aramis had already come to know as _the_ eyebrow at him "but I didn't think you could manage to scare yourself"

Porthos rumbling laugh brought a flush of heat to Aramis cheeks, two bright red dots of colour that contrasted starkly with his paper white skin. A quick pressure on his hand told him that Porthos had squeezed it, reassuring him that they were just teasing. It settled the anxiety rushing through his body and he gave a meek smile. "I wasn't expecting it that's all, I was thinking about food"

"Surely you can't be hungry!" Athos exclaimed sounding scandalised "the amount you ate I would have thought you would be full for days!"

That was, as they say, the straw that broke the camel's back when it came to Aramis holding back his embarrassment. He gave a low mortified moan as his face gave up on the spots, and simply decided to betray him by flushing a beautiful raspberry shade all over and spreading down his neck.

Good natured chuckling filled his ears as he reached up and covered his burning face with his palms. A warm arm settled around his shoulders and pulled him close to an even warmer body, which was solid with thick muscle and so firm that he had no worries of toppling Porthos with his weight, even when they came to a sudden standstill and he teetered into him.

"Aww look at im Athos, es so cute" Porthos' smile was bright and his warm mocha eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Yes, adorable" the older man sighed, used to his friends antics by now "and about to be an adorable icicle if we don't get a move on rather than stand here at the entrance of an alleyway like lemons. I swear I saw that old woman over there staring at us, bet she's going to call the police about the three weird men lurking in an alley on Christmas Day. Not paying bail for you, no way" the words petered out into low grumbling that couldn't be deciphered and Aramis couldn't help the baffled laugh that escaped his lips.

"Is he always like that?" he murmured softly to Porthos, not wanting to upset the grouchy bear that was ahead of them.

"Yep. He's even worse when it's cold though" a cheeky grin was flashed in his face as Porthos continued "so you betta get used ta it because it's not gonna be warm for at least a couple of months now"

"Unless we have a freakishly good February!" Athos called back over his shoulder, "here's to hoping."

Aramis took this moment to actually look at where Athos was standing, and with a jolt he realised that he recognised that misshapen shopping trolley lying prone on its side, and the bumpy ground was covered in granite coloured cobblestones that were oddly familiar and, dare he say it a little bit homey.

Shaking his head a soft smile stole across his lips as he realised what these two amazingly wonderful men had done, their ridiculous banter and teasing had worked in exactly the way they had intended it to, and taken his mind off worrying about his bag. His shoulders had returned to their normal height, thank god! He had been beginning to despair of ever having a normal posture ever again.

Porthos' hand remained wrapped firmly around his own, pressure steady and unchanging as he stood there calmly, eyes searching Aramis' face and seemingly content to just wait until he returned from whatever planet he was on. He couldn't resist giving it a squeeze of his own and peering shyly up into Porthos' face.

"Thankyou" he whispered softly, somehow knowing that he wouldn't have to say what for. He was right. An indulgent smile spread across those strong features and he squeezed back, as if to say 'you're welcome'.

Gently disentangling his gloved hand from Porthos', he gave him a reassuring nod when faced with a concerned furrowing of brows, and took a few faltering steps towards the cardboard box that had been his home only last night.

He didn't want to do this, God he couldn't do this. He couldn't look, what if it wasn't there, what would he do then?

Panic raged through his system again and manifested itself in trembling hands and weak knees, that he wasn't sure would support him the meagre three steps that remained separating him from the insides of his box, and the knowledge of whether his things were still there or not.

'Pull yourself together Aramis' he scolded sharply. In his mind of course. He didn't want to seem like _that_ much of a lunatic.

Then again like the two men would be bothered, they seemed to be about as barmy as they come. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that two random strangers had just scooped him up off the streets, and proceeded to treat him as if they had known each other their entire lives and that he was somehow worth something.

Bizarre.

Well if they wanted to give themselves as freely as this, then who was he to refuse?

How could he refuse, as desperate and affection starved as he was, when a little bit of charity was shown to him he couldn't resist the thought of a kind touch and an easy night.

Pathetic.

He was just glad it had been them that had stumbled upon him, god forbid someone else with motives a little less... noble, had been the one to reach him at his moment of weakness. Once you have lived alone in the cold and dark, with nothing but a bag and the clothes on your back, entire body coiled like a spring waiting terrified, for the monster lurking in the shadows that would fight you for everything you had regardless of how little that was, because by God it was something.

Then you would give anything to feel the warmth of another human being that wasn't trying to take from you, kind words that were far from the shouted scorn of "get out of here you filthy vagrant" as you were chased off street corners, but most of all, feel a touch that wasn't going to hurt.

 A touch that merely conveyed love and compassion and protection, that was what he craved. To burn away the ghostly hands that he felt trailing across his skin, echoes of horrors passed.

He blinked dazedly as he surfaced from his increasingly depressing thoughts on things he had promised himself never to think about, for it simply was sticking a knife into an old wound in his heart and then twisting it just to make sure he was still capable of feeling.

A worn green rucksack swam into focus as the tears threatening to fall finally lost their tenuous connection to his eyelashes and cascaded down his cheeks.

It was here.

A shaky breath rushed past trembling lips as he reached one wavering hand out and ran his fingers over the coarse fabric with an expression of awe, fingertips trailing the familiar bumps of stitches that held the entire thing together. Stitches that he was achingly familiar with.

The next second he had it clenched in his arms, head bent low and forehead touching his bag protecting it from the threats of the outside world that would harm it, tears cascading like a waterfall down his cheeks and shoulders shuddering violently with the force of his sobs.

“Aw darlin you’re gonna make yourself sick” Porthos murmured as he squatted carefully beside the curled up man, rubbing a hand in soothing circles on his back, face freezing as he felt the bones of his spine way too easily.

“Come here” Athos demanded, pulling him up by the arms and wrapping him into a comforting hug.

The bag, pressed as it was between their bodies was safe and Aramis allowed himself to sag, resting his head against the older man’s shoulder and sobbing with abandon. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying, his bag was back safe and sound, it was more tears of relief than anything else.

Once his sobs had died down and he had more of a hold on himself, his stomach made itself known to him, twisting in knots and aching fiercely with the aftermath of his storm of tears. An arm slowly crept around his body to protect it, a move that did not go unnoticed by the other men, and Athos gently released him but kept a gentle grip around his shoulders.

“I told ya so” Porthos rumbled good naturedly and motioned to Athos to start walking.

Aramis just snuffled slightly in reply, too emotionally drained to engage in conversation, however light hearted. The arm about his shoulders began to gently tug on him and he acquiesced, meekly allowing them to lead him along the streets back towards their flat as he floated in a haze of memories.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once ensconced back in the comforting warmth of the apartment that felt like an embrace, from a person in a fluffy cardigan that smelt of cinnamon and cats, Aramis finally felt some semblance of normalcy return to him. As normal as he could possibly feel now his life had turned on its head.

“Thanks” he mumbled as a warm mug of something was pressed into his empty hand, the other clutching the strap of his bag in a white knuckled grip as if fearful it would disappear if he lost contact with it for more than one second.

“It’s my pleasure”

Athos’ tone demonstrated that it really was, he genuinely liked and cared for Aramis and he smiled bashfully at him as he sank gracefully onto the settee beside him, legs and shoulders pressed together.

“May I see?” he gestured towards the bag that had caused such an upheaval for their new friend.

“Umm, sure”

Aramis slowly and almost reverently pulled open the zip that kept the inside of the bag hidden from the outside world, the low buzzing sound filling their ears and seeming to break the daze that had fallen over the room. Porthos plopped himself down into the armchair opposite them, heavy gaze focussed on the two men opposite him, as eager as Athos to learn the mysterious contents of bag.

Thin, trembling fingers delved into the depths of the bag and slowly withdrew again, a black leather bound diary clutched in their grasp. A fleur de lys was etched into the leather of the front cover and Aramis gently traced it with his fingers, inside this book protected by the might of France, were his deepest thoughts and feelings. The chronicle of his life.

He placed it respectfully down upon the soft chocolate coloured leather of the settee cushion, hand lingering for a couple of seconds before delving back into the bag. His fingers met the cold metal of a chain and a sad smile stole across his lips as he drew it out and held it to his chest, then pressed a gentle kiss to the raised golden cross on the locket. He felt Athos lean closer to him as he popped the clasp and slowly eased the two halves apart, revealing two pictures that he could see perfectly in his mind’s eye after all the time he had spent analysing every single detail.

“Is that your mother?” Athos asked, neck craned to stare at the leftmost picture that was closest to him.

Aramis smiled and nodded gently, “yes, she had this made for herself when I was five. It was a way to keep us all close in times of trouble and in case we ever got separated. How did you know?”

“You have her eyes, she’s very beautiful”

He flushed in pleasure at the compliment and traced a finger over his mother’s heart shaped face, “I have her hair too, it was Lisette who had her face”

“Lisette?”

“My sister” Aramis pointed to the right hand picture frame where a group photo of the three of them was nestled. “She was fifteen here, ten years older than me. I don’t know what happened to her before you ask, she just… disappeared one day”

“I’m sorry” Athos reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder, and in a moment of extreme bravery Aramis curled himself up and leant against his chest.

When he wasn’t violently shoved away Aramis relaxed further into the warmth of Athos and a hand began to rub up and down his arm in a soothing manner. He tied the locket around his neck and returned to examining his bag, just because it had still been there didn’t mean someone hadn’t taken something from it.

 An embroidered cloth was the last thing to be pulled out of his bag, wrapped loosely around his prized possession, the tools of his trade. A sewing kit. It was only small, a couple of needles, some pins a few different colours of threads and his mother’s old thimble that she used to give him to use when she taught him how to sew. The cloth was one of her pieces, she had been commissioned to make a noblewoman’s dress and it had been one of the times when they had enough money to eat and put a roof over their heads. A little bit of cloth had been left over at the end and his mother had spent hours embroidering patterns into it, the majority of the space had been taken up by four Musketeers, resplendent in brown thread uniforms and blue thread sashes and the rest by a biblical quote.

He noticed Athos looking curiously at the design and laughed “I may have been a little bit obsessed with Dumas when I was younger. This was my favourite story and my mother spent hours on this, just so I could carry them around always” he rubbed a thumb over the ‘All for one and one for all’ that was stitched at the top, it was really his mother that he was carrying around, her and her love.

“You’re not alone on that front”

He glanced up curiously at the embarrassed tone, twin spots of colour darkened Athos cheeks as he smiled weakly and confessed “I fence. Took it up when I was about eight because I had read that story”

Aramis giggled and it grew into full blown laughter, between fits he managed to wheeze out “that’s… amazing… Athos…”

Athos grumbled at the laughing man but merely squeezed him tighter against him, “you should come along one day, you might enjoy it”

The look of pure awe in wide chocolate eyes was more than Athos could endure and he cleared his throat awkwardly, looking away and searching for anything to move the conversation on to.

“Why don’t you put your things away in your room Mis” Porthos interrupted, smirking at the grateful look his best friend sent him “and then we can watch a movie, I’m feeling The Holiday right now”

Aramis sat frozen for a moment on the settee, this man… this wonderful man already had a nickname for him. It had been years since he had heard that name, only his mother ever having cared enough to call him that. He blinked watery eyes at Porthos, “Wait, my room?”

“Yep” Porthos nodded “couldn’t have you sleeping on the settee, so we decided that the guest room would be yours. It’s the last door on the left”

He could only nod slowly in response, too shocked to argue his point and shuffled off in a daze to stow away his belongings.

Aramis found himself in another pair of borrowed flannel pyjama bottoms (except this time there was a matching oversized top) and wrapped up in blankets, squished up against Athos and Porthos on the settee that really was only a two seater. The TV was on and the handsome face of Jude Law was flashing across it as the familiar scenes of the Holiday played across the screen, a bowl of popcorn was nestled in his lap and he had never felt more comfortable in his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Wow! Longest thing I have ever written and I am so happy with this, I hope you guys like this one. Next episode meeting the Family because of course the boys host on Boxing Day :D


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